


Aliens Made Them Do It

by htebazytook



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance, Slash, Smut, Wordplay, sequel fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-10
Updated: 2012-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:43:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the set of the sequel, Zach and Chris suffer a case of script misinterpretation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aliens Made Them Do It

**Author's Note:**

> 1) LOL - it is a gigantic Trek allegory. There are far too many ~~flat-out stolen~~ reworked quotes in here. 2) I'm suffering from a surprise Adele phase, and in this fic's case, 'Lovesong', so . . . fear the melodrama? 3) Hope you've got your thesaurus handy.

**Title:** Aliens Made Them Do It  
 **Author:** [](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/profile)[**htebazytook**](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/)  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Disclaimer:** <\--  
 **Pairing:** Zach/Chris  
 **Author's Notes:** 1) LOL - it is a gigantic Trek allegory. There are far too many ~~flat-out stolen~~ reworked quotes in here. 2) I'm suffering from a surprise Adele phase, and in this fic's case, 'Lovesong', so . . . fear the melodrama? 3) Hope you've got your thesaurus handy.  
 **Summary:** On the set of the sequel, Zach and Chris suffer a case of script misinterpretation.

 

 

"Still here, huh?" Chris says, placing his coffee on the counter and sitting down.

"Nah, this is just a hologram." Zach gestures at himself.

"Figured. It's not very lifelike." Chris can't get comfortable in the swively chain, must have slept on his back wrong. He'd stumbled his way to his car to LAMILL to the set and had never actually changed out of the sweatpants he'd slept in. "John said you were in here earlier, and he had to come in at like six."

"Ye-ep," Zach says. It's clear people have been commenting on this like every day. "I don't even wanna know what time it is now. The old eyebrows still need done." He turns his attention back to his crossword. It's comforting—the ritual of makeup and Zach and early morning LA.

"Well, take heart, buddy," Chris says, oddly startled by the sudden appearance of the makeup artist. She carries a rainbow of cover-up and smells like some perfume of the variety that Chris has always found pretentious, falsely serious or too seriously sexy or something. "I somehow manage to get beat up with even higher frequency this time around, so you'll have company."

Zach makes a face, apparently oblivious to how it threatens makeup chick's work. "Hm. I'm not totally convinced you can handle the _nadir_ of Vulcan manscaping, but suit yourself."

Chris's listening, but 'nadir' comes with a mental bugle call signaling that they're off to the races. "Don't you mean Vulcanian?"

". . . No?"

Chris shrugs, attempts to ooze nonchalance. "'Cause I mean. That's what they're called. In, you know. The show."

Zach laughs. "It's more 'interchangeable' in an effort to explain a lack of continuity, but sure, you're a hardcore Trekkie. I totally buy it." He scribbles something on his crossword. "Poor baby Chris—he has to sit in a chair and be made to look pretty for a living. Say, you got your violin handy?"

"May I remind you once again that the only reason I'm here is because of some fairly extensive action sequences during which I get _beat up_ and—"

Zach interrupts him with an interlude of terrible warbling.

"Yeah yeah, woe is me, I get it, go fuck yourself . . ." He stops, peers at Zach more closely. "I see we've graduated to a world's smallest cello."

"I'm a dulcet baritone," Zach says matter-of-factly. "At least you get the girl," he points out. "Oh wait, that was me a-gai-n . . ."

"No need to be . . ."—and he looks right at Zach—". . . _fractious._ "

Zach stares into the mirror, expressionless but for one oddly twitchy eye.

Makeup chick—the fuck is her name anyway?—laughs. "I've gotta admit, you two brighten up my morning." She says 'you two', but it sure seems like she's just talking about Chris what with the blatant ogling she's getting up to.

"We're not all that interesting," Chris smiles at her. In hindsight, the smile might've been a bad choice because now she's gone all glowy at him. He just wants to be _nice_ , goddammit. He just doesn't wanna be a dick.

Zach looks down and grins. Apparently it's hilarious to witness somebody fawning over Chris. "Why don't you tell Janice—" Aha! "—about that one time in Paris; she can judge our level of interesting for herself."

"I can literally _hear_ your semicolons, dude."

"'Literally', Chris? Really? You wouldn't care to rephrase that, would you?"

"Fuck no," Chris says. "And fuck you."

*

Chris slides onto the bench next to Zoë. "Come here often, gorgeous?"

"I _do_ have a man, you know," Zoë says, but that hasn't stopped the giggling. "And he happens to be ridiculously good-looking."

"Aw, you wound me, Zoë," Chris says, pouts. Out of the corner of his eye is a newly arrived Zach who looks down and grins to himself again because Chris getting shot down is also hilarious in Zach's book. "I'd always hoped I was more than just a pretty face to you."

"And not even that, apparently," Zach interjects, smirking now.

Chris elects to ignore this whole thing, pushes food around on his plate instead and broods.

Zach turns to Zoë. "But no, seriously, how are you dealing?" Zach says, and it's kind of impressive the way he can switch from pure evil to genuine compassion in two seconds flat. "Ten years is practically a decade," he adds, lets a gentle smile color it.

Zoë laughs, finishes chewing something that surely can't be actual food. Food isn't this fancy _anywhere_ , is it? "A lot of Adele, Zach," she confides. "A lot."

"Well," Zach says gravely. "One can only hope that nabbing the Sexiest Man Alive is some small consolation."

She giggles at Zach, now, and Chris is sure this must count in their current round of one upmanship, which isn't fair because Zach shouldn't be able to charm the pants off of women, too, just because they had their guard down and were all _open_ and were _girlfriends_ with him and shit . . .

Zoë waves it off. "Titles schmitles. I find it hard to believe that you strike out on a regular basis . . ."

"Sorry, don't do the baseball metaphor," Zach says disdainfully. "Pittsburgh has no baseball team."

Zoë deflates a little.

*

Being on set again—being on _this_ set again–is a relief. It's just nostalgia, of course, but it brings with it a sense of excitement and long since deflowered obscurity, the shared new adventure of fame between them, or at least between him and Zach. It shouldn't be like this anymore, but it is, and Chris loves that feeling. He feels free of stupid petty worries—contracts and travel and costars. Being here again takes him back to that precious window of time before the bullshit of celebrity had moved in, started drinking straight from the milk carton and always come up short on rent.

It's that kind of feeling of being at home that you don't dare think back on too seriously. It's that pang of lost camaraderie from senior year of high school or the random cast of some community play, none of whom you'd ever see again, but at the time you knew everything about each other's lives and in-jokes ruled the day.

You couldn't dwell on that sense of belonging for too long or you'd remember that it was over. Being allowed to relive it now on _this_ set, again . . . it wasn't supposed to happen, and Chris couldn't let himself trust it.

The relative boringness of the table read was, admittedly, causing him to reexamine his nostalgia.

" _The Apodisians said they wouldn't let us go until we've given in to whatever it is that we desire . . ._ "

" _They did seem very clear on the point, captain._ "

" _So what are we gonna do? I get that it's their philosophy not to deny themselves anything, but I sure as hell don't see why they have to impose it on us._ "

" _Based on what we have observed so far, I would hypothesize that they feel it is their moral obligation to 'enlighten' us._ "

" _And they're not liable to let us out of here until we do. They were very insistent on that, too._ "

" _Captain, I recommend we comply with their wishes._ "

" _Yes, I suppose we must. Spock, what—_ "

"And then you'll just do your thing, there, Zach," J.J. says, glancing over the script distractedly. "Yeah. Okay. We've really gotta get to the bridge scene now. Where's Zoë?"

A production lackey runs off to find her. J.J. uses the time to roam the set in search of a caffeine fix.

Chris lets out an almighty sigh, throws his script down and uses it as a pillow. "I hate table reads."

"Good God," Zach says, flipping ahead. "It's like the universe is a bull that goes completely batshit at the mere sight of a redshirt . . ."

Karl, who hasn't had a line since some snipping with Zach a few pages back, rolls his eyes. "Don't think you have much to worry about, mate." And Chris hates him for that sexy as fuck accent alone.

Zach throws his script at Chris's head. "Ow."

"You're such a baby," Zach says.

*

Zach nabs him for a smoking break, which just means he wants to get away from everyone else.

Chris feels like he's a college freshman when they do this, prematurely overconfident in his own skin and indulging in the finer, or at least adulter, things in life. Smoking was like tasting your grandmother's particular recipe of whatever and remembering the sense of contentedness you'd felt when you were eight. That's what the smoking ritual has become. Furthermore, that's what smoking with Zach has become. It's summoned memories of the beginning of their friendship, before schedules and public personas—that purely joyful stage of it where you're learning impossibly more and more fun things about one another, and laughing all the time at the luck of finding someone whose company you're sure you'll never get enough of.

"For the last time, Kirk is not a ladies' man," Chris is saying. Waves of heat from being suddenly outside are so much more intense after a day of air conditioned table reads. "Do you even pay attention to anything other than the way Spock stands or whatever?"

Zach snorts, flicks ash away with a captivating sort of practiced ease. "Whatever you say, Pine. Since when are you the resident canon expert, anyway?"

"Um, yeah, I've somehow managed to watch three seasons of a TV show, Zach," Chris says. "What have you been doing for the last three years?"

". . . Kushner."

Chris seethes silently, sucks in smoke and relishes the instant calm of it. "Kirk is almost always sexifying random women with some kind of ulterior motive. I mean, it works. As for everyone else . . . he just has a problem with acting flirty at everything that moves."

Zach's snickering.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing," Zach says, taking another elegant drag. "Just marveling at your _nescience_."

Chris allows another moment for annoyance to pass, then backtracks a bit: "So, like. Don't they have theater on the West Coast?"

Zach shrugs, plays with his cigarette and watches it instead of Chris. "I can't really afford to laze around here and indulge in doing whatever I feel like doing." Looks at Chris, now. "I do have to cultivate some kind of a career, you know."

Chris smiles, got to lighten the mood. "I'm just saying, man," he laughs. "It was kind of like, oh wait, all of a sudden you're not around to point out all the ill-advised things I do."

Zach laughs back. "You couldn't find anybody else willing to take on that, admittedly monumental, task?"

"Nobody nearly as _obsequious_."

Zach holds his gaze, all mock hurt. "I don't see why you always have to take so much pleasure in one-upping me."

Chris fights back a grin. "Just a weakness of mine."

"You're a sadist."

"Never said I wasn't."

*

Chris is glad they're done with table reads, for now. He's been antsy to sink his teeth into something real.

" _I get that it's their philosophy not to deny themselves anything, but I sure as hell don't see why they have to impose it on us._ "

" _Based on what we have observed so far, I would hypothesize that they feel it is their moral obligation to 'enlighten' us._ "

" _And they're not liable to let us out of here until we do. They were very insistent on that, too._ "

" _Captain, I recommend we comply with their wishes._ "

" _Yes, I suppose we must. Spock . . . what are you doing?_ "

Zach leans closer, takes Chris by the arm and . . .

Chris hadn't expected it to feel like a big deal, and it really doesn't—he _has_ done this before—it's just that he really _knows_ Zach. It's a bit like having someone think you're on a date with your sister—awkward and creepy in the way that it forces that mental picture on you. Kissing Zach is awkward in that way. Intellectually, at least.

The thing is is that Zach isn't an awkward kisser, even under the guise of Spock. The thing is, he's actually a fantastic kisser. Zach's made the light, sudden press of lips turn into such disproportionate heat. Chris has this wild fleeting notion that he should be ashamed for _not_ knowing the extent of Zach's kissing expertise . . .

Chris tilts his head to gain better access and Zach seems to have been waiting for this—nudges Chris's mouth open and coaxes the kiss swiftly deeper. Chris feels so off-balance that he's got to clutch at him, but Zach had got an unyielding grip on Chris's arms somewhere along the way, and he holds Chris tighter to him and Chris starts feeling like a heroine in a black-and-white movie, immobile and submissive and kissing back like he's always wondered about . . .

"Cut!"

Zach retreats wetly while Chris lets out a shaky breath, rolls his shoulders and takes a generous step away from him. Chris can't seem to stop blinking.

"That's one for the blooper reel," J.J. laughs, but his eyes have gone anime-wide.

In the peanut gallery, Zoë's jaw seems to have unhinged. John, whose expression isn't much different, reaches over to put it carefully back into place. Karl just smirks while Simon begrudgingly hands him a wad of cash.

Nobody says anything.

J.J. clears his throat. "I appreciate the levity, but in all seriousness, guys—we've got to get this in the next take or two." When Zach and Chris are unmoved, he continues: "Just because the Apodisians are giving everyone what they already desire, I mean, come on you guys, I think we all know Kirk and Spock aren't actually poised start randomly making out at any given second . . ."

Zach and Chris exchange an incredulous look.

Zach turns back to J.J., frowning kind of epically. "You've _seen_ The Original Series, right?"

"It says 'join' in the script!" Chris says. "It says 'Spock joins with Kirk'!"

"Yes," J.J. says, "He mind melds with Kirk so the two of you can communicate. Why exactly would you think that meant you were supposed to ram your tongue down Chris's throat, Zach?"

Chris opens and closes his mouth a few times, too gobsmacked to get a word out.

Zach springs to the rescue: "Well . . . what else could it mean?"

"Yeah," Chris chimes in. "Yeah! And why doesn't it just say 'mind meld', anyway? _Yeah_."

J.J. nods to himself, pauses, then snatches up his phone edges away from the set. "Hey, Dave, I think you'd better get over to A unit . . ."

Chris glances over at Zach, startled into nervous laughter by his serious expression and definitely not by Zach's still wet mouth or his own elevated pulse.

*

Chris peers around the door to the makeup trailer in slow motion. Its only inhabitants appear to be empty mirrors and environmentally unfriendly lights, so he lets out the breath he'd been holding and makes his way inside.

Rummaging through the hoard on the counter is no easy task. Pictures of Zach, makeup brushes—ah, victory! Chris holds the book of crosswords out triumphantly. He flips through it until he hears footsteps.

"Sorry I'm late," Zach announces. "Noah had a little diva _moment_ that demanded my attention."

"By which you mean he shit on the carpet?"

". . . Yes."

"Celebrities—they're just like us!"

Janice shows up soon thereafter, and Chris sits in his chair waiting for his turn, and they don't talk about anything. And especially not yesterday's little misstep.

Sometimes Chris just looks over at Zach and is struck by remembered conversations, and he feels at home without ever even talking to Zach again in the present. Sometimes, the mere memory of laughter and witticism is the same as being witty anew, and anyway this saves him the trouble of thinking—all Chris has to do is be the one that Zach falls in step with, sits with at lunch, smokes with, keeps a wary eye on, and it's the same effect. Chris might as well chuck his thesaurus away right now for all that he really _needs_ any more little victories in the quest for one upmanship.

"Well," Zach says at last, silicone ears flapping as he marks something on his crossword. "Clearly your _erudition_ of Star Trek is not as formidable as you thought."

Chris shrugs, unbothered by the way the word makes him itch, because: "Fuck J.J. and his demographic sensibilities. I'll stick by my own personal Kirk and Spock _asseveration_." Janice gets all up in his face to give him the appearance of a bruise, thus enabling Chris to hide his smirk. Through the mirror he can see Zach squinting at the page. After a minute Zach grins over at Chris sidelong, dark eyes through the dark shards of hair in his face. Even with the ears, it's unfairly sexy.

. . . And that doesn't mean anything, goddammit. What, you're not allowed to objectively notice someone's attractiveness without pouncing on them? You're not allowed to say, Oh hey, Zach's smile is kind of endearing and suggestive at the same time, what an interesting vibe he's got going on there? You're . . .

"Chris," Zach is saying, using one unnaturally hot hand to shake him by the shoulder. "Chris, you look constipated."

*

Zach falls into step with Chris on his way to the set later that day. Chris gives him the once-over. "Jeez, how many makeup artists does it take to screw on some Vulcan ears?"

"Two," Zach says. "How many licks does it take to get to the center of Chris Pine's _proclivity_ for lame jokes?" Zach grins at him and Chris laughs in an effort to stop being so abruptly breathless.

It's a particularly tedious sequence they're filming on the bridge that day, but fortunately Zach's there to make him laugh.

Zach . . . was especially pleasant-looking today. Had they shrunk that goddamn shirt in the wash or what? How did it even make sense that his muscles shifted like that while he pushed random buttons on the console? It was just disconcerting because Chris hadn't really considered Zach like this before apart from an occasional burst of lust here and there, a certain glance or a close, perfumed moment.

Chris's chest fills with a pleasant sort of tightness he doesn't want to sigh away. Giddiness—that's the word. Giddiness and a desperate need to get laid. And how he isn't getting any younger. And how he's failed at so many relationships. And how his constant prioritizing of work _led_ to said failed relationships. And the grateful feeling that accompanies . . .

Zach shoots him a secret little smile over his shoulder from the science station.

. . . That accompanies his Trek family.

" _Captain,_ " Zach says, hunched over and pretending that whatever's on the little slab of blue screen in front of him is fascinating. " _Sensor readings show no signs of life._ "

Chris sidles up to him. " _That's impossible. Those things, whatever they were, were definitely alive . . ._ "

" _Not necessarily,_ " Zach says, straightening. But before Chris can get his line out: " _Jim. There is something else._ "

Chris doesn't bat an eye, instead leans against Spock's chair and smiles. " _Yes, Mr Spock?_ "

" _When I melded with you on the planet . . ._ "

Chris wonders what exactly Zach wants him to say. He lets his smile broaden, lets his tone drop to Spock-specific intimacy. " _I remember_."

" _I . . ._ " Zach leans much too close, and for a minute there Chris is sure he's going to kiss him again, because doing it as characters is okay and doesn't count and isn't going to fuck up their friendship. He licks his lips nervously and Zach's gaze flickers there before he continues with a spectacularly bad accent, " _Wish I knew you to quit you._ "

Chris valiantly tries to resist bursting into laughter but promptly fails. He points at Zach and tries to speak. "You vile . . . sadistic . . . so and so!"

Zach beams innocence at him.

"Shut up!"

"I didn't say anything!" He just grins. Zach's canines make his smile unique and have this tendency to cause Chris's insides to twist.

Nobody even has to yell cut. Cameramen reshuffle and extras wander back to their starting points like this is something that happens all the time. Which it totally isn't.

Karl just stands there with a knowing little smile plastered on his face.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Chris snaps.

Karl clasps his hands behind his back and bounces up on the balls of his feet. "Nothing at all. A fascinating experiment in human biology."

Chris glares at him.

It's at this point that J.J. takes them aside. "Guys. While I appreciate the . . . attention to detail . . . well, it's just, hm." He crosses his arms, twirls a pen around a bit obsessively. His glasses are kind of adorable, like they're trying to apologize for any imminent pseudo-scolding. "I just think you can afford to tone it down a little. You're getting the point across without needing to, for example, _actually_ kiss."

"Right," Chris says, nodding. It takes him a minute and a look at Zach's face for everything to sink in. "Oh, wait. No, dude, we weren't, ha, we weren't, like . . ."

J.J. waits patiently.

Zach comes to the rescue, smoothing the whole thing over with easy laughter and an easy arm around Chris, fingers over his hip that make Chris have to concentrate on not concentrating on it. "We just have chemistry, man," Zach says. "Not gonna molest each other on camera, I promise."

J.J.'s gone from patience to suspicion.

"Bible," Zach says solemnly.

Chris waits until J.J.'s trotted away to turn on Zach and say, "Oh my _God_ do I need to _pry_ you away from the fucking Kardashians?"

Zach's looking at him like he's crazy. He also hasn't let go of Chris. "You'd pretty much have to, yeah."

*

Chris meanders over to Zach's trailer without making a conscious decision about it. Just walking around on the set— _this_ set—makes him feel whole again, like, what, he was a puddle of depression in the interim? He'd never felt _not_ okay doing other projects or hanging out with other insta-families. It was just that this was better.

It's the illusion of a clean slate, back to that suspended moment in time where possibilities sparkled in the air and nothing was finalized, no people to stalk them and Zach was only blocks away rather than time zones. I mean, everyone was. Karl and Simon and, like . . .

Look, it's just that Zach had been _ridiculously_ close by. Like, run into each other around the neighborhood close. Know the local gossip close. Know exactly what Chris is thinking or about to say or what makes him laugh, close.

"Frankly, I'm still shocked that you didn’t burst into tears after those redshirts spontaneously combusted," Zach is saying, phone-engrossed across from him at the counter. It really shouldn't be physically possible for him to sit cross legged on a barstool. "You were literally tearing up."

"A little thing I like to call acting."

"Suure."

Zach taps out the last of an email or, more probably, finally vanquishes a level of Angry Birds. The way he puts his phone aside strikes Chris as gentlemanly. "How did a product of Pittsburgh get to be so classy, anyway?"

Zach inclines his head, full on Zach-focused on him now, which is weird when they're out of character, at this point—they're always smoking and glancing around or eating side by side or filtered through the mirror in the makeup trailer. "I . . . make it a point to _not_ engage in sports addiction? I have an _apperception_ of the English language? A mastery, you might say . . ."

Chris rolls his eyes. "Really? Not just 'perception'? This is seriously the level we've sunk to?"

"What _are_ you talking about, Chris? Really I haven't the foggiest," Zach says, totally straight-faced except that his eyes are dancing. Chris desperately wants to break his cool.

"So," Chris says. "That time the aliens made us kiss." They never talk about it, and there must be a reason, and maybe he can even get Zach to smile and squirm in embarrassment.

Zach raises an eyebrow, or what's left of it.

"I mean, I guess I see J.J.'s point, but like . . . yeah I just really don't think he's right."

Zach laughs, glances off to the side to think better. "You know . . . it's kind of pointless to talk to me about things that you've already made up your mind about."

"No it isn't," Chris says. "It's fun." Zach makes him feel like he's fun again. He makes Chris feel like, like . . . "I've felt so weird lately," he blurts.

And there goes the other eyebrow. "Why?"

"I dunno. Haven't you? Isn't it kinda déjà vu to be here again?"

Zach shrugs, shifts. "I mean, it's a relief to be back home."

"Exactly," Chris says too quickly.

Zach stares at him for so many beats that it's verging on creepy, and the leftover eyebrows don't help. "Do you really not understand why I went to New York?"

"You said, you know, 'Angels in America' and . . ."

"Oh, don't be naïve, Chris. They have theater on the West Coast."

"But . . ."

"I couldn't do something stupid like stay in LA just because of . . ." He stares at Chris for a minute and seems to make a decision. "I can't just put my professional life on hold because I occasionally think about kissing you mid-douchey-sentence or, _you know_ . . ." He's squirming, now, all futile gestures and shy hunching shoulders and the smiley inability to look Chris in the eye.

"No, I don't," Chris says, going on auto-pilot. "Or what?"

Zach pauses in his private little melodrama to quirk a grin. "You want to know my deep dark fantasies? Are you really that full of yourself? Oh, what am I saying—of course you are . . ."

Chris hops off the barstool, walks around the counter to him. "No, come on. I want to know—what's so shameful that you ran across the fucking country?" Chris isn't sure whether he's pissed at Zach or hurt, teasing him or intrigued.

"You want specifics, Chris?" Zach says, and he says it from an angle and softly-deeply, and this gets Chris's heart racing, so he figures that means he should nod. Zach flashes a grin again, which does little to rein Chris's pulse in.

"'Kay," Zach says. "There was that time you came to New York and we went to the bigass Barnes & Noble in Times Square and quizzed each other on the random books—I believe I convinced you that I have in fact read Proust, but I digress. You dragged me behind a bookshelf and I sort of fell into you for a second, and you laughed and gave me the most unfairly enticing look . . .

"The time you said 'sacrosanct' and 'moribund' in that one interview and I was on the verge of jumping you then and there.

"The time you got drunk out of your mind and draped yourself over me and mumbled into my neck about how you were gonna triumph me, but I'm pretty sure you meant 'trump' . . ."

Zach's making a show of keeping count by bending back his fingers, and Chris is slightly entranced by the coiled strength in his hands.

"And let's not forget the time I got to bend you over that console on the set and have you gasp and flutter your eyes and grab at me . . ." He pauses. ". . . There were a lot of other times."

Zach eyes him, so confident in the shoulders, so smoldering in the eyes, but he's got a truly ridiculous blush up his neck and ears and high on his cheeks. "You gonna say something or just, you know, be an utter dick and leave me hanging? Just curious."

Chris laughs again, panicked by his inability to act. "I don't know what I'm supposed to . . . I think . . . you know, I think we should probably just skip this part and you know, just start making out," he says decidedly.

Zach laughs back, but his eyes do this brief little widening before honing in on Chris. "You 'think' we 'should'?"

"Oh _come on_ , dude. I can hear your fucking scare quotes . . ." He jumps at Zach's hand encircling his wrist, feels his mouth go dry at Zach's advance. "I don't really know whether we should or whatever, like," Chris stutters, stumbling back at Zach's urging until he finds himself trapped against a handy wall. "I just, uh, I just kind of want to, and uh—"

Chris can't quite believe how fucking pornographic this has gotten, already. It probably has something to do with the way Zach wasted no time with silly things like seduction and instead skipped right on ahead to winding his tongue around Chris's sensually, wet and sudden and stroking and Chris is drunk on the instant wantonness of it, sucks on Zach's tongue and licks into his mouth.

And I mean, it isn't like Chris _hasn't_ thought about this. He was a sex-driven male who watched porn, and it's not like the kind of porn you watch really, like, _means_ anything Freudian or whatever . . . it's just hot to watch gay porn because the attention's on more than just some faceless guy's cock. The addition of some slutty chick faking everything from orgasms to breasts, laid out and begging to be corrupted, was counterproductive and only filled Chris with distaste. And girls in real life weren't much different, although they were bitchier and more controlling.

It's hot to see two guys _both_ having delicious things done to them at once without the girl in there to ruin the mood. It's just better when it's just men, like a two for one . . . it's like . . .

. . . Oh, goddammit.

He's interrupted by Zach's restless hands slipping suddenly lower, by the absence of his unfairly talented mouth. Zach's dropped to his knees, is pushing Chris's shirt up to lick into his bellybutton and his hair tickles Chris's stomach, over-gelled in an attempt to sculpt it into a non-Spockish doo and failing, crunching audibly into ruin against Chris's sensitive skin.

It’s not until Zach's mouth closes around his cock that Chris really starts babbling like an idiot: "Oh fuck. Oh fucking hell goddamit _fuck_ yes . . . "

Zach laughs and that in itself makes Chris shiver with sensation, says, "You have such a dirty mouth, man. So unbecoming," and goes back to sucking lazily on the head of Chris's cock.

Chris had meant to say something sleazy like, 'Huh huh, look who's talking', but his capacity for speech is currently offline.

Chris hasn't thought of _this_ specifically—not about Zach's mouth on him or the strength of Zach's arms or whatever. He _has_ thought about Zach more generally. He's thought of the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs or the deadpan way in which he constantly undermines him; his intelligence and his capacity for being passionate about art or politics or people and . . . this isn't what Chris ought to be dwelling on in the wake of the magic Zach's working with his lips and tongue.

Zach doesn't look up at Chris as he moves his head back and forth, and that in itself is exciting—the melty-hot sensation blocked from view and making it that much more intense, making it so the glimpses of Zach's face are unbearably sexy surprises to remind him every now and then that, yeah, that's _Zachary Quinto_ unleashing a torrent of insane oral skill on him, and that Zach is actually cool with this. Zach makes a pleased sound around Chris's cock, and the roughness of Zach's hand now working the base in tandem is bringing Chris pretty fucking efficiently close.

Chris can't help pushing his hips into the sensation, can't help twisting a hand in Zach's hair in some kind of warning. Gasps and can't decide whether he's got to close his eyes and feel the brightness of the pleasure or open them and be witness to Zach so fucking slutty and eager to please. Zach's bobbing his head ever faster over Chris's cock and Chris just can't take this, feels the muscles in his legs start to shake and chokes out a garbled warning before he comes down Zach's throat.

Zach springs to his feet sometime during Chris's little fade to black and once Chris has got a passable command of his senses Zach decimates them all over again with a slow sumptuous kiss against the wall.

Chris tries to push Zach away enough to return the favor but Zach is apparently intent on squishing Chris into the wall of his trailer as a permanent accent piece. "Zach, come on, I wanna—" And he gropes vaguely for Zach's belt.

Zach bats Chris's listless hand away and undoes his fly himself, then presses Chris's hand over his cock and starts directing him, stroking hard and firm but slow.

Zach bites his lip and presses his forehead fruitlessly into the wall behind Chris. Chris takes the opportunity to lick into his ear and relish Zach's subsequent moan.

Soon Zach stops directing Chris's hand and starts attempting to rip off a hunk of his shirt instead, writhes frantically and feels so hard in Chris's hand and smells fantastically like Zach. He turns Chris's head to kiss him fiercely, then groans lovely-low and gasps high-pitched and his eyes roll back in his head rather dazzlingly.

"I can't . . . I'm gonna . . . oh _fuck_ . . ."

A few breathless minutes later, Chris wipes his hand on his pants and says, "Apparently you can."

*

Chris sneaks up behind him in the makeup chair. "Status report, Mr Spock?"

Zach doesn't look up from his crossword. "Conditions normal." Scribbles something.

" _Are_ they?" Chris can't help a slow smile, drapes his arm around the back of Zach's chair and leans over his shoulder to get a better look. "We _do_ seem to have landed ourselves in a somewhat . . . _impugnable_ . . . situation."

Zach barely salvages his expression before it crumples into laughter. "I am unaware of any abnormalities. All factors indicate that our situation is unchanged and, furthermore, _amaranthine_."

Chris almost has to forgo the whole thing just to gush over that one. _Fuck_ . . . "You . . . can't deny that this changes things _irrevocably_."

Zach allows a moment to feign considering this. "You may be right. However, I submit that it would be illogical to _repine_ over it."

"And . . . just . . . _what_ do you propose, Mr Spock? I _rescind_ our _felonious_ activities and simply carry on as though conditions really are normal? I must say, that isn't very _pragmatic_ , is it? I—"

"Uncle!" Zach says, catches Chris's gaze in the mirror at last and laughs back into himself and holds up his hands in surrender. "You win. And I swear if we keep this up much longer I'll be reduced to monosyllables, so . . . _Catch-22_?"

Chris shakes his head. "Nah." He knows that whatever words they say don't really matter. " _Détente_."

*


End file.
